


Just Say Yes

by This_is_The_Phantom_Lady



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Abuse, Angst, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Anxiety Disorder, BDSM, Bondage, Cutting, Dom/sub, Domestic Violence, Dominance, Emotional Manipulation, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Forced, Forced Prostitution, Hardcore, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Multi, Pain, Painful Sex, Painplay, Past Abuse, Physical Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rape, Rape Aftermath, Rape/Non-con Elements, Romantic Sherlock, Safewords, Self-Destruction, Self-Harm, Sex, Sexual Abuse, Sexual Content, Sexual Sherlock, Sexual Slavery, Sexual Violence, Slow Burn, Smut, Social Anxiety, Submission, Triggers, Violence, slow burn johnlock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-12
Updated: 2017-01-22
Packaged: 2018-08-08 10:01:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 12
Words: 10,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7753291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/This_is_The_Phantom_Lady/pseuds/This_is_The_Phantom_Lady
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thinking she found her way out of an abusive relation the woman finds herself growing dependent on the man she met at the bar that night... That man who seems all too perfect.</p><p>What she doesn't know is that she is nothing but a case to him. </p><p>Sherlock Holmes soon finds himself in an emotional dilemma... </p><p> </p><p>Names correlating with real world characters are purely un-intentional... though. Paul. F*ck you.</p><p>Based loosely on true events. Though an amount of fiction has been added for the sake of the story-telling and character development, as well as poetry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Step one

At the bar sat a woman; one hand constantly held on to her glass. The other continuously strayed to her hair; putting a strand of hair behind her ear, and then freeing it again; combing it down… to then continue the cycle. 

It was as if she forgot the bruise she had purposely tried to cover up with her hairstyle. Strange; he thought.

But it told the man all he needed to know. He read her like an open book within the second. 

Passing her he brushed against her shoulder and it made her jump; as if every fibre in her being shied away from the human contact. 

Quickly she re-adjusted that same strand of hair. Attempting to not look like she even noticed him. Something she failed miserably at.

He went for the digital jukebox and changed the music from some modern and all too loud bump and grind to something with a melody. Something even older than she was. 

Something better. 

He sat himself next to her and observantly looked at her drink; it was almost gone. 

“I love that song” she tried to compensate for her social anxiety by being the first to speak. Trying to persuade herself that it gave her some small advantage. An inch of control over the situation.

“Me too. Much better than that modern stuff” he gave her a toothy smile. 

Had she not been so nervous she might have found him attractive with his pearly white teeth, dark curls and that neatly fitted suit.   
She was that easy to impress.   
He even smelled good… He was almost too perfect.

And that was her problem… The same old problem. 

Her red lips surrounded the black straw and she emptied the liquid contents of the glass; not knowing how to react. She never did.   
All that remained was the ice. 

He signalled the bartender who lazily scuttled over to their end of the bar. It being a weeknight meant the bar was near empty… 

“Two of those” was the way he ordered with a wink, pointing at her glass. She had not once let it out of her hand or sight. The tender nodded and went to work with mixing. 

“So, what are we drinking?” he moved himself closer to her from his stool. She fought the urge to recoil. His gaze seemed all-consuming. 

“I—Irish R-rose” she stuttered. And internally beat herself up for stuttering. Which never did anything to help that...

“A whiskey-gal” he joked “I wouldn’t have guessed” his brow raised; making him look genuinely impressed with her choice. 

Her cheeks flushed with red heat. He certainly did know how to press the right buttons this one…

The barman placed the drinks in front of them and she quickly grabbed hers and took a pensive sip. As if she was testing it for poison or worse. 

“Thank you” she remembered that the man was paying for hers. 

He tasted his as well and smiled. 

“You’ve got great taste” the way he looked at her made it seem like he wasn’t talking about the contents of his glass. 

Her heart was hammering against her chest. 

“So what came first?” he asked.   
First. What? He caught her off guard. Carefully he took hold of her wrist and brushed his thumb gently over the tattoo there. “The rose or your love of the drink?” he looked into her eyes and read her ink with his digit. 

“The… the rose” she sighed. She felt a hot electricity buzz from him into her. It even took her several seconds to remember her carnal fear of human touch… 

She withdrew her hand and her nervous tick resumed. She put the strand behind her ear; revealing that bruise.   
His mouth opened and he pretended this was the first time he noticed it. 

“Oh! I’d hate to see the other guy!” he joked, trying to ease the mood. 

Her lips curled into something that could be interpreted as a shy smile.   
Instantly she placed the strand back. Hiding her imperfection from the world again.   
She closed her eyes. Maybe she should have listened to her own anxiety and stayed home… 

“I’m William, by the way” he changed the subject, seeing that it embarrassed her. He held out his hand to hers; but she refused to take it. She had used up her quota of human touch for the week. 

“Cat…” she replied reluctantly. She was looking for a way to escape already. 

“Cat? Short for Catherine… or like a furry one?” he chuckled; still attempting to make her feel at ease with him. 

“Just Cat” she sighed. Her eyes were darting towards the door. He noticed how her feet were even aiming towards it. He was losing her. 

“Listen” she looked back at him. “I have a dog” she blurted out. “He doesn’t like men… he’d bite you…” she stumbled over the words; shaking heavily by now. 

“Oh would he?” he gave a wolfish grin. “And where would he bite me then? Just so I could be prepared”

“Your arse” the woman clutched her purse and took a big sip of her drink. 

He chuckled. This was her version of making up a boyfriend to get out of the situation.   
This was certainly new. 

“Maybe I wouldn’t mind” he stood as she did. Her front teeth dug hard into her bottom lip to stop it trembling. “You have gentle hands, perhaps you could nurse me. Maybe it would be worth it“

She resembled a frightened deer. Okay. That was as far as he got. 

“Can I have your number at least? I’d like to talk to you again” he changed strategy on the spot. The second she was about to run. 

No. That would be her answer. But she remembered her promise. ‘Just say yes’… yes to everything. 

“Sure” her smile was too kind. She grabbed a napkin and jotted it down. For a second she thought about adding a fake number… but she couldn’t even think of one. So it happened… the man got his way. 

This one as well. 

She almost ran out of the bar; only nearly escaping a fall down the stairs outside. 

The moment she was gone his dashing smile faded. His eyes rolled and he ruffled his curls. He paid the barman and was on his way home. 

Step one completed. This should be easy.


	2. Playing With People's Feelings

She closed her door to her darkened and empty flat behind her; locking it and checked the handle just to be certain. She would check it again later to be sure it really was secure… that she really was safe…

She slid onto the floor, nearly collapsing. Her teeth chattered; despite her little home being warm and cosy enough. 

How she wished she actually did have that dog. She would bury her nose in the fur, hug it tightly… and someone would be glad to see her; without the prospect of her being able to offer more than her company. 

Her phone rang from her purse and with jittery fingers she searched for it in a panic. She picked up and didn’t even have to look at the caller ID to know… 

“Have you been a good girl?” the voice on the other end laughed before she even made a sound. Her face froze. Her entire body turned to ice from the inside out. 

“Yes” she squeaked. Even she knew that didn’t sound convincing enough. Fuck.

“Yes what?” he sounded impatient. Her bottom lip quivered. Please, please don’t be drunk…

“Yes Master” all emotion left her voice. 

“I miss you” he softened “Mind coming tomorrow night? I need you” he pretended like she had a choice. She nodded even if he couldn’t see her. 

“Yes” she swallowed “-Master” the word made her throat close. It was nauseating to her. Everything about it was. 

“Oh what I wouldn’t do to that fine little body of yours… You know, I would love to run my hand over that perfect rounding of your ass right now. Of mine I should say” he laughed. Reminding her once again that all that she was, was his. 

She gave a weak laugh as reply. Hoping her humours would soothe his moods… 

“I’ll text you the details. What are you doing up?” he suddenly turned stern again. “You know I want you rested” 

“Sorry… Master” this time the word made a tear roll down her cheek. 

“Sleep tight” and with that he hung up on her; leaving her to whimper. She could feel his hand glide over her skin and it made her writhe uncomfortably. 

 

…

 

Without a word ‘William’, as he had introduced himself to Cat, entered his home and hung his grey Belstaff by the door.   
His companion was reading a book in his usual chair. The fair-haired man looked up from a page and placed a finger to remember where he got to. 

“That was quick?” he pondered. 

The curly haired one didn’t answer. Instead he reached into his pocket and withdrew the napkin and dropped it in the sitting man’s lap. 

“A phone number?” He deduced; oh always that need to verbally state the obvious. “It was a success then?” the silence from his taller friend gave him pause to talk. 

The man then threw his phone at his friend who skilfully caught it in mid-air. This was not the first time there had been such an exchange. 

“Why can’t you do it yourself?” He already knew that the other one expected him; skipping all niceties, to send her a text. But still he seemed to try to school him… perhaps in time it would help make him more… human? Decent? 

“Because, John” finally he broke the silence “you’re the expert in these matters”. He rolled his eyes. The word ‘expert’ seemed painful to admit to. 

John knew it was a hint about his previous social life… perhaps he had seen quite a few women since he returned injured from the war… but it was certainly not something the other would ever let go. 

And now it seemed useful. 

“I don’t know that I am” John mused. Reluctantly he started composing a text; it didn’t take him long to hand it back to the other one. 

The tall man threw himself on the couch, reading the message that was still unsent, unfinished. 

‘I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I really would love another chance to see you.   
Until the next time, Sherlock xoxo’

“You wouldn’t want to send it yet… you’d seem too eager” John warned. “Might scare her off”

“See, you know stuff” He tried to flatter as he quickly changed Sherlock into William. His assumed alias; however unfanciful considering it was part of his birth name albeit little used these days.   
He couldn’t risk the girl finding out he was a detective… it would put the entire case at jeopardy. 

“What is it with those X’s and O’s?” the detective pondered

“Kisses and hugs. Send it in the morning” John sounded preoccupied. Sherlock did not have to look to know he had resumed to his reading… He had never been fond of this whole plan. Sentiment… 

There had even been a bit of a fight earlier… John; the eternally brave protector of human decency. 

 

_“You can’t play with people’s feelings like that!”_

_“I’m hardly the first”_

_“That doesn’t make it any better”_

_“You don’t even know her”_

_“I know she’s a human being, that’s enough. Sherlock it’s not fair to pretend”_

_“Like you’ve not done that to ‘get’ some ‘attention’ for a night!”_

_“Just try not to break her heart at least”_


	3. Not Careful Enough

Resisting the urge to throw her phone at the wall in disgust more than anger Cat stumbled back to her feet and dried her eyes; expertly she rid her face of any trace of emotions.

Something she was far too good at. 

Briskly she put it on the counter and went to the bathroom and changed out of her clothes; taking a hot shower and scrubbed down every inch of skin on her body. She removed her makeup by rubbing her eyes with her hands and rinsed with the hot water streaming down over her body.   
It was far from the best method but she hated the oily feeling of the makeup remover she did own. It always slurred her vision and the thought of that scared her. 

But for some reason she always had it standing on the shelf in front of the mirror; perhaps so no one would judge her if they saw it was missing from her array of tools to make up herself… 

Not that she was in the habit of inviting people into her home. 

But just in case… 

She wringed her long hair and sighed as she wrapped the towel around it. It would take forever to dry… And she didn’t have forever. 

She stretched her body and gasped as she felt the muscles attached to her spine spasm. Oh damn it to hell. She forgot her medication again. 

Going for her purse she grabbed a pill box marked Wednesday and threw three tablets into her mouth and washed them down with water from the tap and swallowed. 

Only she could manage to forget to take prescribed pain relief for a severe and painful chronic back ailment… 

Perhaps not the wisest choice to mix it with alcohol either… but as some people felt the need to continuously put out there ‘you only live once’… and the drinks she had that night had been sorely needed. 

And she could hardly say no to the one the man had offered her. 

What was his name again? Walter? No. William. Like the prince! She made that fact into a mental note.   
For some reason she felt a need to remember him. 

She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Her hair removed from her face made the bruise stand out. Like a sore thumb.

Oh, If only she had been wiser… 

This whole thing was getting out of hand. But she just couldn’t say no. She couldn’t risk it… Maybe it was better to live with the pain she knew rather than face the unknown consequences…

Admitting defeat, she braided her hair, wringing more water from it and after a last check of the front door she crawled into bed; closing her eyes… hoping she could sleep. If anything she needed the mental robustness for the next night. 

 

…

 

John had gone to bed, and the flat had fallen silent; safe for Sherlock who was tapping away on a laptop. He was reading up on the recent online gossip about his main target. Not Cat… but the man who caused that bruise to her unnaturally pale face. 

Paul Stulte. The minister of foreign affairs. 

Everyone knew that he might have had his fingers in some dirty pies… but nothing had stopped his campaign.   
He simply had his charms with him. 

Sherlock had been hired to dig up something unforgivable… and since having economic ties to a child-labour driven factory in Sumatra manufacturing bombs wasn’t bad enough… He had had to dig deeper… and he found her. It had not taken many hours of surveillance to find out that they met a few times through the week in different hotels around London… and that she always looked worse for wear when she left. Despite her best efforts to seem unaffected and appear neutral. 

She wasn’t there fully by her own free will. That much was clear. 

But why she kept coming back he did not know… so… he took the case. What kind of hold did he have on her? 

Usually he would never have cared about such trivial matters, but in this woman he saw a puzzle to solve. 

He found himself wondering why no one had noticed or was bothered that he saw that young woman; sure Paul Stulte was a careful man, sure, but he was not being careful enough. This had been far too easy to find. 

At the strike of 8 in the morning he reached for his phone and sent the text; rolling his eyes once again at those symbols that apparently were synonyms for displays of affection… 

 

…

 

Hearing her phone she jumped out of bed; her entire being in a state of cold sweat and panic.   
Thinking it was Paul she ran to the phone before her body was even fully awake. 

Her fingers barely cooperated as she opened the message. It was him, wasn’t it? Fuck. Please let this have been the first message she prayed… she didn’t want to deal with those consequences. 

Wait. William. Oh. 

Oh!

Her pale face flushed and her lips formed a smile out of relief… and something more.   
Every muscle in her body that had tensed with fear relaxed all at once.

Curiously she rubbed her cheeks; she was apparently so unaccustomed to smiling that it hurt her facial muscles. 

What a strange sensation.


	4. Pacifier

“Have you been to bed yet?” John yawned entering the living room. He clearly had; he still had bed hair. Another troubled sleep for him, that was evident. Possibly nightmares. 

Sherlock sat in a lotus position on the chair in front of the laptop and phone; filing the information about Cat, as well as the new bits of information on Paul Stulte into his own hard drive; also known as his mind palace. 

A good moment later he looked to John who was making himself a cup of tea in the kitchen.   
Choosing to be productive rather than be annoyed with the silence his question was met with. 

“You want one?” He asked.   
Sherlock knew he had already boiled water enough for the second cup. He knew the answer… but for whatever reason he felt compelled to ask. 

Sherlock closed the laptop; him having been halfway through an article that had given him no real knowledge anyhow. 

He went to the kitchen and took the cup John had already prepared; assuming it was for himself.   
John seemed to bite back on a complaint… but he knew better by now. This behaviour was too imbedded in his friend. 

So John went to brew another cup. 

Sherlock was fidgeting with his phone. Not much of a talker today John thought… nothing new there. It could be like talking to a wall some days. Or a moody teenager in a grown man’s body. As he stood there, his fingers tapping away. 

“In your medical opinion, how old is that bruise?” Sherlock held the phone in John’s face. John swallowed and looked at the picture of the young woman; that Sherlock had snapped in a moments unawareness on her part. A rare thing. 

“A few days, judging by the colour, hard to tell on the screen and in that light… uhm, is that her?” John shuddered uncomfortably. 

He hadn’t needed to ask John that… but in truth he was a lot easier to be around if he felt the least bit involved. 

“So he’s seeing her tonight then” the tall one spoke out loud; but it only made sense to himself. 

“Who’s that?” the other one wondered; trying desperately to follow suit. 

“There’s another debate, he won’t be needed for all of it. He’ll have time to sneak off” he was still speaking to himself. 

“He did that to her then, did he?” John found he was still holding the phone. 

There was no answer on that one. 

 

…

 

She tried to crawl back to bed; she had nowhere to be… not before tonight any way. But she was wide awake by now. Her mind kept re-reading that message and what had happened the previous evening. 

Perhaps she shouldn’t have been so afraid. Wasn’t that the point of that whole ‘Just say yes’ thing she had started on New Year’s Eve… thinking she needed to make some drastic changes to her life. 

Or maybe she really was too easy. 

Paul had seemed kind at first as well… he still did sometimes.   
She hadn’t even believed him when he warned her all those months ago. When he pinched her cheek and whispered to her that he was dangerous, and she probably couldn’t handle him. That she had no idea what she was getting herself into…

She took it as a challenge. Stupid. Stupid! She had even been curious to know what he meant by dangerous. 

And he kept his promise on that one… 

Feeling her chest constrict she stumbled towards her small kitchen. It was only a few footsteps away from her bed but some days it seemed like an uphill climb.   
She put the kettle on; brewing herself a cup of caramel flavoured instant coffee. Well, it was more of a case of milk and sugar with a tiny bit of scented coffee… 

She hated the taste, but loved the effect. 

The woman fumbled to grab her morning pills and washed them down with the last swallow of the magical liquid. 

She then crawled back on the bed with a banana in her hand, her usual breakfast; well as long they were still greenish and by no means had a brown spot on them. She sat herself as upright as possible. As straight as her spine allowed.   
Facing the TV she tried to tune herself in to actually watch what was on the screen. It was always running; especially at night. It was a sort of pacifier for her; most sounds that would normally startle her could be excused as only coming from the television set… 

Silence was a known enemy of hers. It allowed her thoughts to race and spiral out of control. It made the memories seep through… 

While eating her breakfast she fidgeted with her phone and re-read that message again. She should probably reply to it… but what? How…

Just as she thought she should give it a try a text came through. From him… from Paul. She felt the muscles in her stomach tighten uncomfortably.

‘The Stafford @6’. 

How romantic.


	5. Wheels in Motion

Realizing there was not much more he could do until Cat at least answered his text Sherlock went to work on answering some of the backed up emails from people begging for his help to solve their mysteries… 

Most of them were easily answered for him and he typed away at a fast pace. It even pained him to have to answer some of the more obvious ones… from people just looking for there to be something deeper to it; trying to escape the inevitable truth simply because it was uncomfortable. And truth be told some of those he did skip…

Mid reply to a woman whose husband had been stealing money from their joint account to give to his ‘bit on the side’ John rudely interrupted. 

“I’m off out. I’ll ask Mrs. Hudson if she’ll sort some lunch for you” 

Sherlock scratched his prickling scalp. It was his only reaction. 

Oh John. You’ve much to learn still. 

He finished his reply and hit send, opening the next ‘heart-breaking’ case in email form. And so passed his day. 

The landlady, Mrs. Hudson, did come with a plate for lunch but he never noticed or recognised it; especially not her usual muttering about not being the housekeeper. It was getting rather old. But Sherlock was an expert at filtering…

 

…

 

The day passed for Cat as well… and she grew increasingly numb. She struggled to eat her lunch, but forced herself. She needed to have some physical strength to endure what she had coming. 

She spent the hours grooming and re-grooming herself. She plucked and removed hairs from places, re-did her makeup enough times… every time having a sinking feeling that if she made the smallest mistake she would pay for it. 

Realizing it wasn’t going to get much better she sighed and packed away the makeup. One half of her brain trying to mother the other more neurotic part. 

She put her hair in the usual side-braid and left a strand of it to fall down over the side of her face; hoping it would hide that mark she was already all too tired of looking at. 

She hadn’t even bothered trying to cover it with makeup. When she was much younger she had tried to do the same; she had invested in so many products… and the marks still showed. It was only a painful process. And she had already caused herself enough pain. 

And something inside of her wanted to confront him with what he had caused her. 

 

…

 

Holmes looked at his watch. The debate would be starting now. If his calculations were correct she would be on her way to a hotel to meet with him soon. He steepled his fingers under his chin. The wheels were in motion. 

 

…

 

And on her way she was. 

At the The Stafford she asked for Mr Greenwich. One of Paul’s aliases. He had a rota that she was told to memorize. After Greenwich came Yellowstone then Redding. 

“What’s your name Miss, if I may?” The young redhead in uniform standing in the reception wondered ever so politely from behind her screen. 

“de Maagd” she announced. 

“Ah, you’re expected. Room 204, that’s second floor and just to the right, Miss de Maagd” the red-haired receptionist kindly informed her; pointing towards the lift.

Cat smiled; trying to look as grateful as possible… pretending she didn’t know the inner workings of hotels by now. 

The young woman felt helplessly trapped the minute the lift doors closed on her. She pressed the floor button hard and the lift did as it was intended. 

No going back now. 

Standing in front of the door to the room she drew deep breaths as she tried to build the courage to knock on it, or was it courage to run she was looking for? 

It took several almost-knocks before she finally did knock. It felt to her as if her heart stopped and she physically felt the blood stop running through her veins. 

Fuck. Now there really was no going back. 

Noises coming from behind the door told her the knocking had been loud enough. Her senses were now hyper alert. 

She nearly fainted when the door opened. The man smiled widely at her; hungrily… and oh he was.


	6. An Eager Pet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: this chapter has a very troubling scene that might trigger certain individuals (do remember my tags are meant as warnings)
> 
> It was tough for me to write and has caused a few tears. Also while I have been proof-reading it; so I sincerely apologize for any mistakes.

Sherlock went to take a quick shower and changed into one of his best suits; douching himself in the same aftershave he had worn the night before. He figured familiarity and consistency would be his strongest asset with the slightly neurotic woman he was trying to woo. 

He straightened his ‘battle armour’, dusting himself off looking at the mirror. He practiced his dashing smiles and tried to keep them on for longer. It made him want to gag having to be that way. 

Having to be ‘William’. 

 

…

 

“You’re early, Pet. Eager are we?” the man chuckled at her as he ushered her inside; not wanting to linger too long in the hall.   
What a lie that was. But as long as he believed it, maybe there was a chance he would be more kind this time. 

Oh the lies you could make yourself believe when you’re desperate enough… The all too brittle straws you grasp at…

Without any further words he slid her coat off of her shoulders and soon put an already prepared drink in her hand. Without her usual hesitation she took a long sip of it.   
Perhaps that would stop her from shivering. Calm her nerves, or at least take the edge off. 

Deep down she even hoped this time it was spiked so she wouldn’t have to remember or even be conscious for the exploits of the night. 

As soon as she emptied the glass he took it from her and put it back on the table. 

“You’re thirsty today. I do like that” 

Oh, he really did. 

Her throat felt thick with the physical manifestation of a memory.   
Cat licked her lip bravely; not wanting to show the effect his words had on her. 

With a few steps forward he was standing right in front of her and gently, too gently, moved her hair away from her face. He brushed the large, flattened pad of his thumb over the bruise; applying enough pressure to make it throb dully. 

“Don’t make me do that to you again, okay pet?” his voice was sickly sweet. Like a punch to the gut. 

She swallowed and nodded; knowing well she wasn’t granted permission to speak… trying to remember all his changing whims to avoid his wrath. 

“Such a pretty thing you are” he cooed, running his fingertips down over her face, all the way to her collar bone; this made her swallow again. 

“You make a grown man lose his mind” he pressed his thumb into her; just below the bone where it hurt.   
She held her breath; didn’t even dare to move. She feared she would pass out if she did something to worsen the pain. 

How she wished he’d just throw her on the bed and get it out of the way. But he had to be slow… painfully slow. He enjoyed the torture and the control more than the actual sex… 

She tried not to smile when she made an internal observation that it seemed it was often a trait of men with power-complexes or a below average penis… or even a combination of the two… 

 

…

 

The minute John returned Sherlock was on his way out and the two collided at the door. 

“You borrowed my aftershave again, did you?” John mused with a laugh. Ah, he was in a good mood was he? He must have seen that woman again. What was her name? The redhead! That was quite clear from the strand of hair on his coat. 

“Don’t wait up.” Sherlock replied, though not to John’s observation. 

“Seeing the girl? Tell her she probably should see her GP. It looked like it was quite a blow she took”

“Oh doctor” Sherlock sighed. “Remind me; what is the rate of serial-battered women actually seeking help?” he rolled his eyes. 

John frowned. That was really not fair. It was an all too depressing statistic. And quite frankly it pissed him off that Sherlock could be so cold about that.

 

…

 

She had to breathe. She had gotten quite good at holding her breath over the months; but he was better at waiting. 

His finger that was still pressing against her clavicle bone made a film of tears cloud her eyes as her chest moved. 

In that moment he grabbed hold of her face; pressing his lips against hers and forced her mouth open. He claimed her with his tongue taking her breath away completely. 

Her muscles tensed from the sudden assault and mercilessly he pushed her back against the bedpost of the canopied bed. She stumbled and nearly lost her balance; reaching behind her for salvation. 

He moved his lips away from hers but still stood pressed against her; holding her up with his own body. 

“I haven’t got time to play games today” he groaned. “Turn around and hold on with both hands. Don’t you dare let go. Okay? And do keep quiet” There was a cold warning in his eyes even more so than in his tone of voice. 

She turned around and grabbed the bedpost for dear life.   
And now Cat was shivering hard; the tears were pressing to fall. This was not what she ever signed up for. 

Hearing him quickly unbuckle his belt and undo his fly and the rip of a condom didn’t soothe her. She felt her very insides twist and clench. As if that would ever do anything stop him… 

He pushed her dress up and pulled her panties to the floor in what seemed like one motion; her knuckles were already white as she held on to the wood. The woman felt nauseous to the point of retching. 

But it happened. At first she was able to keep quiet, then small cries made it out as he pounded himself into her so roughly and fast that it hurt and burned. 

“Please, stop… it hurts” she whimpered trying to escape him. A hard slap to her hip bone was the answer. 

No. 

“That’s not your safe-word” he grabbed her braid and snapped her head back as a further punishment. She didn’t know it was possible but he moved even harder and harsher within her until he was satisfied and threw her to the ground. 

She was crying and sobbing into the carpet; clawing at her panties and dress trying to cover herself up again; become somewhat decent. All the while internally cursing herself for showing him her tears… 

“Thanks pet. I got called back… I promise I’ll make up for it” he casually dropped two ten pound notes on the floor for her to grab. “That covers the cab fare, right?” he spoke as if nothing had happened.  
Cat had stumbled onto her feet and put the cash into her purse and nodded. She gave him a weak smile when she took her coat and hobbled out of the room…


	7. Fine With Standing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have several more chapters typed up, but I am attempting to post one per week (mostly on Thursdays) to assume a more steady posting schedule. 
> 
>  
> 
> Also; if anything in this story seems to be victim-blaming I'd like to say that this story came from me trying to work out a situation and deal with my own doubts, fears and regrets... Most of those thoughts happen in Cat's head and I hope that comes through.

He was right. As always. 

Sherlock was hiding in the shadows watching over the entrance to the same pub where he met her the night before. Perhaps it was a bit sooner than he expected it; but there she came. Walking slowly. Her head held high. A bit too high perhaps as she entered what had become her place of refuge. 

He watched her through the window as she ordered her signature drink.   
He took that as his cue to enter. 

Standing next to the woman he winked his eye at her. 

“One for me too. I’ll handle her tab” he turned to the bartender. internally he hated that he was forced to slur any bit of his brain with alcohol. But it was all for the good of the case. 

She was white as a sheet; but managed a smile. A polite one.   
She tried to appear brave but Holmes noted the reddening and puffiness of her eyes telling him she had been crying. 

“Stalking me?” she attempted a terrible joke. 

“Maybe” he returned the banter.   
Technically that wasn’t exactly a lie.

She was finishing her drink too fast. She needed it. Her entire body was trembling by now. 

“Want to sit?” he patted the bar stool next to him. Making his deductions already.

“No” she replied, much too quickly. “I’m fine with standing”. 

“Hmm” he mused. “maybe the couch is softer then?” he pointed to the dark corner of the room. She swallowed hard. 

“I’ll need the loo” she gasped. Somehow she was now realising that once again she forgot her evening tablets. This was getting old.   
And it was a quick out for her to rethink an escape strategy… to be honest she just needed a drink to calm herself down… she hadn’t come for… this… whatever ‘this’ was. 

In the stall she lifted up her dark dress with shaky hands. Sitting down did hurt as she expected it to and she did all she could not to cry out. Her hip was buzzing from Paul’s hand. He had hit just on the bone; he seemed to know what he did. 

Had it gone any different if she had held her breath longer? Should she have smiled more? Maybe the other dress had been better? Was it wrong of her to be early?

Her eyes grew wet as she sat there; alone with her useless thoughts. 

She ended up using most of the toilet paper; trying to clean herself up at least some; trying to ignore the fact that what she wiped away was mixed with blood.   
What she really needed was a long, long and way too hot shower. She wanted to wash all of Paul away from her being. 

She staggered out of the booth and washed her hands thoroughly. And then once more before taking her medicine.

Returning to the bar; there was William smiling widely upon seeing her. 

“That took a bit. Is everything all right?” Most of all she just wanted to get home… home to her shower. 

“Yeah” she smiled and carefully sat down; skilfully biting back the pain. 

“Thought you could do with another” he pointed to the fresh drink standing next to his own that was nearly untouched. 

Cat drew a sharp breath. She looked around the room trying to calculate whether or not anyone would have noticed, or cared about him meddling with her drink. But her need outweighed her worry. 

It tasted fine as she sipped it through the straw. 

“Trying to get me drunk?” she laughed nervously. He laughed with her. 

“Why would I want to do that?” he turned halfway to face her better. He looked genuinely confused for a second. 

“To take advantage of me?” she stated the obvious. Her voice dropped. 

“That’s how boys play it, I believe” he winked his eye. He reached for her wrist and she immediately moved away; flinching. 

“S-sorry… I have an issue with touch” she admitted; hanging her head underlying her shame over that fact. 

“I am not here to hurt you” he looked right into her eyes. His stare made her bite into her lip. “I just want to know you” he tilted his head; mirroring her movements. 

She reached for her drink to deal with the uncomfortable feeling of a pressure she felt in her chest. All her head did was make counter arguments against his words. 

‘No you don’t. Why would you?’

“So, where are you from?”. He didn’t have to ask; he knew as much having indeed stalked her recently. 

“Places” she chirped; holding her glass in her hand; changing her position on the couch to relieve her poor bottom and hip. 

“And where is that?” he put his elbow on the back of the couch and supported his head. God. This small-talk lark was tedious. 

“Earth?” she tried. Being put on the spot. 

“Well you certainly look human” ‘William’ laughed so hard his whole body moved and some of his curls bobbed around. “Okay then” he changed the subject for her; every little twitch of her body told him she was about to leave; too soon.


	8. The Short Exchange

“Interests, hobbies?” ‘William’ tried another approach. 

“I write and paint sometimes, but I used to dance before…” she bit into her tongue; stopping herself. The underlying sadness was evident in her voice. 

“Before? What happened?” he worked hard on showing concern. 

“My spine and hip happened” she took another swallow of the Rose. Drowning her useless bitterness.

“Accident?“ his eyes widened. 

“No… Scoliosis… left untreated” The words themselves seemed to be painful for her to produce. 

“I thought they would usually have treated that during the early teenage years?” it seemed a bit more like showing off his knowledge than it was worry. The ‘William’ facade was cracking a bit; and Sherlock peeked through. 

“They would, if your mother cared to take you to a doctor” She put the glass down. Once again it was only ice that remained. 

“Oh” he looked at her with open mouth. He had apparently angered her. Perhaps he had dug too deep too soon. He still hadn’t gotten anywhere near what he really wanted from her. 

“I should get home… it’s been a long day. Thank you for the drinks” she faked a smile that made her twitching lip strain. 

She offered him her hand; a form of truce; and a big deal for her. 

As a gentleman he took it; leaning in to gently kiss it. 

“Do you live far from here? Maybe I should walk you home?” he stood up as she did. 

“No… I” she tried to come up with a way out. 

“Don’t worry, I don’t have to come inside. I just want to make sure you get home safe. You’re an attractive young woman and you never know. I’d hate if something happened to you” he looked for her bewildered eyes. 

Ha. Now there was the butt of a cosmic joke. 

“If I say no, are you going to follow me anyway?” she tested her legs; holding her purse tightly to her body. 

“You’re quite observant” he winked at her. 

She rolled her eyes. 

“Okay… fine then” the woman sighed, defeated. 

This could only come back to bite her… And she did consider leading him to a false address; but wouldn’t that become awkward if he did stalk her? Oh. She never could win. 

Exiting the pub, he held out his hand to her but she shook her head. That kiss on the hand was as far as he got tonight if she had any say in the matter. 

”Have you lived in London long?” ‘William’ inquired as they slowly made their way. She figured he could tell by her accent. 

Cat pondered the question looking down at her feet on the sidewalk. Her grasp of time had vanished a while ago… in a way it felt like a hundred years ago, and in the same moment it felt like yesterday. 

“Not long enough. I love the place” she flashed him a smile. 

“Oh, how come?” more small talk… ugh. 

“No one knows me here” she beamed. Her exact reason for the move. 

“hmm” he hummed; adding another note to his file about her to his mind palace. 

“This is me… thank you, William” she stopped abruptly and so did he. 

He leaned in to kiss her cheek and she froze completely; her eyes widened but she was too shocked to react on her impulse to retract. 

“Thank you for tonight” he smiled at her. 

She could still feel his soft lips on her cheek. That short exchange. What little moisture that had been on his lips had left a mark on her skin and the cool air was catching it. 

“Th-thank you” she stuttered and curiously put her hand over the point of contact. 

Now there was that strange sensation again. Her lips widened in a smile; her eyes somehow lit up. 

‘William’ observed this and felt a moment of pride. This was all going to plan. She was warming up to him. 

She turned away; feeling conscious and fearing she looked as the fool she felt she was being and started fiddling with the front door to her building. 

He held the door for her as she entered. 

“Cat… can I see you again?” he caught her eyes and locked her in a gaze. 

She nodded and let the door close behind her and she made the journey towards her flat.


	9. The Elephant in The Room

Nearly dropping the keys to her little home she felt the tears begin to burn again. Her hands were shaking so hard she struggled to unlock the door.   
When she finally did she soon slammed it shut behind her; locking it firmly and checked it twice.

She broke apart then; crying and sobbing loudly; her chest heaving as she struggled to breathe.

Everything hurt now; a million times worse than it had just five minutes before and it overwhelmed her. Not having to fake her strength for anyone gave way for the weakness she had expertly hidden away since she left the hotel. 

The young woman stumbled into her shower; clawing at her clothes and was biting back on a scream of desperation as her shoes clung to her feet… but finally she got her way. And once naked she turned on the water; and that moment the tears stared to run down her cheeks freely; mixing with the hot water hiding their presence. 

Cat had no idea how long she had been in the shower; how many times she had scrubbed herself and lathered herself in the rosy soap again… but in the end she gave up. She had to accept that she could never actually wash away what happened… nothing would take away the way she felt… she knew that all too well. It was a bitter pill she had swallowed before and that did not make this any easier for her. 

Drying herself up she avoided the mirror. She didn’t want to replay an old memory that was already bubbling towards the surface. That was an image she could never forget no matter how hard she tried. 

The image of her, so much younger, standing there in front of a bathroom mirror trying not to throw up again as she had her fingers deep inside her mouth; trying to remove the last of the filthy, rough hairs that was stuck between tonsils and tongue.   
The same reason she 10 years later still had spontaneous panic attacks if she accidentally got a hair in her mouth; even if it was only her own. 

As the unwelcome thoughts overwhelmed her she couldn’t hold the nausea back. Frantically reaching for the toilet she couldn’t stop it. 

Feeling even more dirty now she took yet another shower and the tears seemed to be unstoppable. 

 

…

 

Sherlock returned home; finding John tapping away on his laptop. He Observed his typing pace while he hung his coat and scarf by the door. 

“Typing up the last case?” he sighed and threw himself tiredly on the couch. The night had been exhausting. 

“Mhm” John mumbled and continued his task. 

“You are then” 

Silence ensued. Oh what a lovely thing. 

Holmes went over the night in his head; word for word… subtracting every little detail; every little piece of body language was deducted to pieces. 

“I think I need some real expert advice” his upper lip lifted in disgust at his own words. 

“huh?” John stopped typing mid-sentence. “On what?” He grabbed his mug and took a sip. It was always worth to hear his friend; Mr ‘I know everything’ admit that he needed an expert… even implying that there was someone better than him… 

“I need to speak to a woman I think. She’s a bit more tough skinned than what I had calculated” he sat up in that moment. 

“You mean she’s careful, guarded? I wouldn’t blame her.” John attempted; remembering quite well that picture Sherlock had shown him.

“A bit more severe than that…” the curly one drew a sharp breath. “Molly is a woman right?” You could almost see the lightbulb over his head in that moment. 

“No, no… Sherlock no!” John gasped; his eyes widening in horror. “You are not bringing Molly into this!!”

“Why not?” He shrugged; seeming completely confused at this reaction to his reasoning. 

“Because it’s quite enough that you are toying with one woman’s feelings!” the fair-haired man raised his voice; putting down his mug. 

Sherlock blinked. What? And why was John so angry about this? 

 

…

 

An inexplicable peace suddenly washed over Cat as she dried herself yet again. She swallowed a lump in her throat and took a deep breath; accepting that this would be another sleepless night… it was going to hurt… and it wouldn’t do anything good for her anxiety and panic attacks… but she was going to survive. As she had done so before… that was the plan.

Somehow…

Sitting herself on her bed; the telly already running the tears clouded her vision again. She could feel his hands… she could feel him inside her…   
Her hip was throbbing; a red bruise was forming and she did know putting ice on it would help reduce the swelling. But something within her stalled. 

Hearing his words was the final blow… 

“That’s not your safe-word”

Why, why couldn’t she remember it at the time? 

“Elephant” she spoke to the empty room, as if it could work retrospectively; her voice little more than a creak.


	10. A Silent Decision

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning; if you struggle with SI I ask you to proceed with caution and stay safe!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the hiatus. I haven't been doing too well lately. Things have been going on in my life recently, one of them being that not only was I finally officially diagnosed with PTSD (what I always knew I had...) I've been diagnosed with severe PTSD from chronic and repeated trauma; which in short means even with years and years worth of treatment I will never get much better no matter how hard I fight it. 
> 
> I am clawing my way back to the surface... and trying to make new plans for my life from this point on. This has cancelled all expectations of what is considered a 'normal' life... so yeah. It's been a mouthful to swallow. 
> 
> But anyway... sorry for the babbling. Here is the next chapter!

The argument went nowhere and John had to painfully accept that there were some things that he could never change. 

Poor Molly. 

Sherlock fell asleep eventually, on the couch; however John had no idea when as he had gone back to typing on his blog. 

But looking up from the screen and seeing him curled up peacefully breathing with a low snore it made his lips curl into a reluctant smile for some inexplicable reason. 

So he found a blanket and carefully laid it over him before going to bed himself. 

 

…

 

Cat was sitting on her bed hugging her legs; her back pressed against the cool wall. 

Her own thoughts had started an internal argument where she was the eternal loser. A voice inside her seemed convinced that she knew what she had coming… advocating that she had the choice to leave or not having gone in the first place. Finding every little mistake she might have made… defending Paul and his actions as well. 

This was what it was like, and she knew it. Paul was the master and she was the sub and she was to serve him. She shouldn’t have complained! 

Her nails dug hard into her naked calf. A single fresh tear trailed down her face. 

She wanted to scream at her own head to shut up with all that useless babble. Her eyes darted towards the window… and towards the kitchen that held the pill bottles… 

Her teeth pinned her bottom lip in a vice grip. 

The horribly easy way out. 

She swallowed uncomfortably. There was another way to silence those thoughts… but it came with consequences and the breaking of a promise to herself. 

Her brain did little to stop her from making the decision though… in fact it only supported her. 

She crawled on the bed and managed to get on her feet. The nausea was back; fuelled by the instant shame of the horrible decision she had made.   
She reached for her makeup purse on the windowsill and at the bottom found a flattened box and prying it open the secret content fell on the table making a sound that to her sounded so incredibly loud. 

And there it was; staring back at her. 

 

…

 

In the middle of the night he kicked himself awake; having managed to tangle himself up in the blanket. Where did that stupid blanket even come from? 

After an arduous fight he shed the blanket and got up; wide awake. 

He found John’s laptop on the coffee table and opened it; finding John once again had changed the password… 

Didn’t he know by now it was useless? And couldn’t he at least come up with something less obvious than ‘QuoFataVocant’?

Once that flimsy excuse for a security barrier was broken Sherlock went to researching for restaurants around London town. The bar did seem to be a safe spot for her; but it seemed to be a bit too safe for her. Definitely not an advantage for him.

 

…

 

Awkwardly she climbed back on the bed and mechanically opened her bare legs. With only a brief moment of hesitation she put the metal tool against the skin of her inner thigh. 

The minute the blood started flowing she felt lighter; lighter than air even as if it was liquid lead that was oozing from her body. Her lips parted and she licked them. 

As she hoped her head became empty; as if everything seeped out through her veins. 

The cut started to sting now; making her jaw open wider in a silent cry. But it was a reaction to the frustration rather than the fact that it hurt. 

With the pain came the realization of what she had done, what this meant. She grabbed for the makeup purse searching for a tissue and her always handy supply of band aids… even if she had made a promise to herself to stop this; she wanted to be ready in case… in case this exact thing happened. 

She almost felt outside of her body as she padded the blood away and covered up the damage as if it never happened. 

Oh fuck. Fuck.   
Now she remembered the reason she had withstood this for so long… 

Paul would not be happy.


	11. Demons In The Night

Having found a suitable restaurant a mischievous smile lit up his face. 

He had the best source for witless romantic babble at his hands. Opening John’s emails he went digging; this time paying a bit more attention to the wording rather than just treating it as comic relief. 

He made several mental notes of sentences… sentences he worried he wouldn’t be able to say with a straight face. How on earth did John manage to keep that up?

Not satisfied with what he found, though, he got up; closing the laptop.  
He needed to go just a bit deeper than that… the true gems were most likely hidden in John’s phone.  
Unless he had deleted the messages. He would most likely have deleted some of it out of embarrassment over some of the failed relationships. But surely some of it would still be there… John was always much too late to give up hope and know when to stop. 

Sliding in on the tips of his toes he snatched John’s phone from the bedside table and once back in the safety of the hall he started reading. He caught himself biting his lip not to snicker out loud at some of what he found. 

Didn’t the women know these words were nothing but cheap tricks? Surely they couldn’t be so easy… did they just play along? 

Pitiful! 

Finding himself growing more irritated than inspired he snuck back in and put the phone back where he found it. Missing his aim by a millimetre in the dark the casing hitting the table gave a sound. 

Sherlock froze and looked to the sleeping man; who groaned in his sleep and turned to his other side. 

Phew. He always had been a heavy sleeper when he finally fell asleep. Quite the advantage… 

 

…

 

The sting from the cut was pulsing. Spreading. Burning… 

Cat decided it was better to lie down and attempt to sleep through it.  
Remembering her desperate attempts to sleep times before… when she would do anything to get her body to rest before she lost what had been left of her mind; as if causing herself pain just to catch some sleep wasn’t a madness in itself… 

She closed her eyes firmly and tried to guide her breathing… slowly… one breathe in… hold… slowly out… 

And it worked… she was taken under; almost feeling herself sliding down into the darkness. Her body was worn out from the night she had had; apparently. 

She could still feel the cut though; the feeling of it seemed to rotate in a circle… round and around. She could hear her own breathing. But… that wasn’t her breathing. Holding her breath, she still heard it. It was a wheezing more than a breath. 

Gripped by panic she opened her eyes and looked around the room. Between her legs was a solid shadow being lit up by the flickering TV screen. The shadow was moving and she could slowly focus harder on it. It seemed to be a figure. It was rocking, breathing…  
The screen became lighter and she saw it clearer… it seemed to be a man; his face pressed against her inner thigh; rasping his tongue over the cut that was now exposed. 

His hands grabbed at her legs, digging his nails into her flesh. 

Her heart thumped hard against her chest; but no matter how hard she tried to move her body it laid still, stiff as a board. 

His hands moved upwards towards her hips, as he continued to rasp his tongue over the wound. Cat tried to scream but no sound came from her lips either. She was at the mercy of this shadow-man. 

He was digging his long nails in on the side where Paul had hit her; ripping through her skin, pulling it off in long shreds. 

His arms seemed to grow longer and reached higher on her body; tearing her skin from her bones piece by piece. Now his tongue that felt like sandpaper finally left her open wound that had grown from his assault to fill out most of her thigh and was oozing blood at an alarming rate. She felt the bed become slippery from all the blood that was leaving her body from every slash he caused her. 

And still she couldn’t fight it. She was lost inside the shell of her own body; feeling like she was hammering against her own chest to be let loose. 

His long, razor sharp fingers reached her throat; his slender arms still growing longer. His hands wrapped around her throat; strangling her slowly. So slowly she was begging him to hurry up and get it over with. 

He moved now, sliding his cold body against hers that was on fire and every inch he moved more of her skin was ripped from her bones. He rose up only to throw himself down on her; slamming his full body weight against her; putting his lips over hers and forcing his sandpapered tongue into her mouth; destroying her lips and tearing apart her tongue and the roof of her mouth. 

She was begging for an end. And end to the searing pain. 

 

…

 

Sherlock couldn’t take his eyes away from him. How peaceful he could be. It was fascinating even.  
This was a good night for John it seemed. No nightmares for him tonight. 

Sherlock had seen John twist and thrash, bathed in sweat before… an awfully pained and desperate look painted on his face. Even screaming himself awake. 

He never told John this… but there had been a time it was so bad Sherlock had crawled into John’s bed and held him carefully trying to calm him down… fearing he would suffer a heart attack from his clearly dangerously elevated heartrate. 

And it had earned him a few bruises as John not knowing it was friendly arms had kicked and punched himself out of their grip.

But Sherlock had never told him about that… He simply shrugged when John later noticed the fading bruises as he caught him changing his clothes. 

 

…

 

And suddenly it was over. She could move, she could fight… but the figure was gone. 

In a frantic panic, she patted her hands down over her body… finding that it was still intact; despite the fact she could still feel the damage. But the only visible damage was the bruises from earlier and that cut… still patched up and still it’s original size. 

Her heart was still beating so fast she could hear it pulsate in the rushing blood in her ears. Turning on all the lights in her flat she went for a fruitless search for any trace of that thing… 

Deep down she knew it wasn’t real. But it surely didn’t feel that way. 

She was barely thinking when she grabbed her whiskey bottle from the cupboard in the kitchen by the neck and drank from it; in a desperate attempt to soothe her nerves. Her eyes located her phone on the table and it was an almost less conscious act…


	12. The Perfect Chance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for this hiatus, I hope to write more soon! 
> 
> Enjoy.

Sherlock was torn out of his frozen state by the faint ringing of his phone downstairs in the living room. He swiftly left the sleeping man and found it. 

Looking at the caller ID he lifted an eyebrow. 

Much sooner than he expected. Shouldn’t she be asleep at this hour? 

 

…

 

Her fingers were shaking and she took another swig of the liquor; hoping it would help… even if she did know better than that. 

Leaning against the fridge she looked at her phone; with an icy cold sensation washing over her. 

Who did she even have to call? She couldn’t exactly call Paul… that was not how it worked. 

She opened the text William sent her earlier and drew a long sigh. She felt the same sensation of his lips on her cheek and her hand strayed to it. Oh. 

But could she call him? Could she really do that?

Seeing a shadow move she was brought back to the anxiety and dialled… and it was ringing… and ringing.  
He was asleep. Of course he was asleep. She shouldn’t have called! How stupid could she have been… how…

“Hello?” he spoke softly.

“W-William?” she stuttered; her voice barely audible. She still hadn’t fully re-mastered it. 

“Cat” he replied. 

“T-thank y-you f… for t-t-tonight” no matter how hard she tried to calm herself; her teeth her were chattering loudly against each other. 

“Is something wrong?” ‘William’ sounded alarmed. “Are you safe?” 

“I’m… fine” she finally managed a small sentence without a stutter; unless you counted the pause. 

“You don’t sound fine. Should I come over?” 

Subconsciously she was shaking her head.

“I’ll be there in 20 minutes, okay?” his voice sounded determined. He hung up before she ever got to say another word. 

No. 

No. He couldn’t. Not here. Not… not now. 

Panic rose back up within Cat; filling her body with painful electricity. 

She jumped to remove the blade that still laid on the table after her little ‘mistake’. She went to find a dress to put on; finding her fingers fidgeting helplessly with it; but eventually she got dressed… running to the bathroom to check her face for imperfections; at least those she had a chance to correct… 

 

…

 

Sherlock grabbed his scarf, wrapping it around his neck; slipping on his coat before he left the flat and went on his way towards her flat. 

Brilliant. This was the perfect chance! He could get her on her home-turf and he could find invaluable information about her. 

It was much too good to pass up. 

 

…

 

Cat now sat in the comfy chair; facing the front door, chewing her lip. She was staring at the door… waiting for William to come… unable to stop the shivering. 

She jumped up startled as the buzzer went off. 

“Cat; it’s me. Mind letting me in?” he spoke softly, but loud enough to drown out the comforting babble coming from the telly. 

She quickly switched it off and ran to reply to him; clicking the button before she replied 

“S-sure” there was that silly stutter again… 

Not long after; there he was knocking on her door. She looked through the peephole to see him standing there. He smiled kindly; as if he knew she would be doing just that.  
Carefully she opened the door and gave him a brave smile in return as he entered. 

He hung his coat and scarf on her coat stand and instantly turned to look at her. Already mid twirl having taken in most of her flat. 

“What happened? You sounded upset” his eyes didn’t leave hers even if she tried to turn hers towards the floor. 

“Cat?” he softly asked. “Cat, are you okay?”

“I had a bad dream” the young woman chirped; realizing as she spoke how stupid it sounded; coming from a grown person. “I shouldn’t have called. I’m sorry”

“No, it’s okay!” he brushed his hand over her cheek and gently lifted her face to make her look back into his eyes. “I’m here now”

Her eyes were dark; she was chewing her lip. It was clear as day she had been frightened out of her wits by this dream. 

“Come here” he cooed, gently and reached out for her; pulling her towards him in a hug. 

Strangely; even to her, she didn’t fight him. Her breathing slowed down; her tensed muscles softened. She accepted the hug. 

Oh thank goodness. He knew his patience was wearing thin for him tonight… this went much easier than he thought possible.


End file.
